Three times Sam Winchester wasn't possessed
by inkson
Summary: As the title says: three times Sam Winchester wasn't possessed.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Three times Sam Winchester wasn't possessed. (1/3)

**Author: **Starrylizard (Part 1)

**Rating: **Gen, Teen

**Notes: **These are three stories/chapters on a theme, written round-robin style by **Starrylizard**, **Rinne** and **Freelance**. They can be read separately or together and we'll be posting them over the next couple of days.

**Summary (Part 1): **Sammy had always been a fairly easy baby in the scheme of things.

* * *

Sammy had always been a fairly easy baby in the scheme of things, something for which John had been grateful. Sam had had none of the colic that had kept both he and Mary awake for nights on end when Dean was a baby, he was rarely sick and he was usually pretty quiet unless startled by something. 

Another blessing had been that the deep rumble-vibration of the Impala engines apparently worked as well as any lullaby, sending Sammy straight off to sleep. Considering the number of driving miles his kids were stuck with and, living the life they did with John dragging them from place to place, that truly was a miracle.

Sammy's large green eyes seemed to passively take in the world as if cataloguing everything for future reference. Sometimes John thought that might bite him later, but mostly he was just happy his boy seemed bright. The odd distressed cry or whimper was always well deserved and John could usually figure out what it meant before things got too ugly.

Yes, Sammy had always been a good baby, and so it caught John off guard when his youngest son suddenly went from a quiet (though incredibly messy) contemplation of his dinner to...

"Nonononononono!" Sammy cried, flinging food off his tray table and onto the floor. The little guy smacked his small fists down on the highchair, smooshed peas flying to the floor as he swiveled and twisted about unhappily, legs smacking against the seat. "Daddy, no!"

John froze, turning to see what could possibly be making Sam so unhappy, before quickly moving over to his side.

"Hey, kiddo. Calm down. What's wrong?" He kept his voice to the low rumble that both his kids seemed to find most soothing, but Sammy didn't seem to notice him at all. He just smacked his bowl with his spoon, thus flinging mushed carrot into his father's face and down his clean shirt.

John reached down to pick Sammy up, but he wouldn't stop twisting, little legs thrashing about, and John soon changed his mind, too afraid he'd bruise his son on the way out of the highchair.

"Dean, what happened?"

Dean was standing stock-still in the small apartment kitchen, head tilted as if completely awed by his brother's display. He shrugged and then suddenly sucked in a breath, before turning and bolting into the other room.

John gave a sigh, swiping a hand across his face and through his hair. He looked from his youngest son to the doorway, wondering whether he should go after Dean or keep an eye on Sam. He was saved the decision, though, when Dean returned carefully carrying a flask of holy water.

"_Christo!_" he cried, with careful six-year-old enunciation, before flinging droplets of holy water over his brother.

And Sammy stopped screaming. He blinked in shock at his older brother before burbling happily and reaching up to feel the water that was being splashed over his little body - the cool water providing a perfect distraction from his temper tantrum.

"Dad, it worked!" Dean looked at his father, bug-eyed with amazement, before doing a little victory dance and John allowed himself to slide down the kitchen cupboard until he was sitting on the floor.

"Good thinking, son," he managed to choke out.

And then he laughed. He laughed longer and harder than he had in years. He laughed until he was crying and his sides hurt.

He laughed until Dean's victory dance had finished and he had sat down next to him, giggling uncontrollably at his father's inability to stop laughing and Sammy just burbled and flung smooshed peas at them both.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: **Three times Sam Winchester wasn't possessed. (2/3)

**Author: **Rinne (Part 2)

**Rating: **Gen, Teen

**Notes: **These are three stories/chapters on a theme, written round-robin style by **Starrylizard**, **Rinne** and **Freelance**. They can be read separately or together and we'll be posting them over the next couple of days.

**Summary (Part 2): **_Boy dies tragically at 17 from younger brother induced coronary_ was not a headline he wanted to see.

"You did not just do that. _Tell me you did not just do that!_"

Sam was tempted to say 'I did not just do that', but figured that with the look on Dean's face, mouthing off would not be a wise idea. As much as Dean had been driving him insane, _Boy dies tragically at 17 from younger brother induced coronary_ was not a headline he wanted to see. Or _17 year-old commits fratricide_. Not that he'd be able to _see_ that headline, per se, what with being dead and all, and Dad would salt and burn his bones, so it's not like he could be a ghost and see it that way. If he was possessed just as he died, however, maybe his soul would stick around, hitch a ride. And that was more likely to happen in this place than a lot of other places, so it wouldn't be a total tragedy if Dean decided to kill him.

"What were you thinking? Are you insane? You could have got yourself killed!"

Dean did have a valid point. And he hadn't even been possessed by Jean Smith, the creepy old lady haunting the building, so he didn't have an excuse. Not that Dad would have accepted it as an excuse. Oh, no, not Mister My-sons-must-be-perfect-hunters-and-would-never-get-possessed-by-an-eighty-year-old-geriatric's-ghost. Not that Jean Smith's spirit would have been stupid enough, or clumsy enough, to do what he just did.

"Sam? Sam, geez, oh, man. Dad! Sam, it's okay, just breathe."

Breathe? Why would he need to think about breathing? He'd been breathing all his life, thank you very much, without having to think about it. It was a natural process, one that he excelled at. He was a champion at breathing.

"Sammy? Dean, put some pressure on it. What the hell happened?"

Okay, ow, maybe he could understand why he had to think about breathing. That hurt, a lot. And his ankle had just joined in with the throbbing. Stupid thing must have decided that excruciating pain wasn't enough; he had to have unbearable.

"I don't know! One minute he's beside me, the next he's f-falling in front of me. I, I tried to pull the shot…"

It was nice to know that Dean hadn't shot him on purpose. Not that he would… but still… nice to know. Of course, that wouldn't stop their dad from giving both of them a chewing out… when Sam was conscious enough to understand it, that was.

"Dean, Dean! You need to keep the pressure on it, dude. We've got to get him to the hospital."

Oh, wow. He'd never quite understood about change in air pressure until now. As he felt himself being lifted up, he had the sudden thought that his head was going to fall off and they'd go to the hospital and leave it behind. They couldn't leave his head behind; he needed it. He had a test next week. At least his dad was warm; it was getting cold.

"Sammy, it's okay. He still conscious?"

He just had to trust Dad; he wouldn't leave Sam's head behind. It would look odd to have a headless son. They were freaks enough as it was without that.

"Just, I think. Watch his head."

Dean had kept an eye out for it; that was good. At least he wasn't moving anymore, but it meant he was colder too. He could always…


	3. Chapter 3

**Title: **Three times Sam Winchester wasn't possessed. (3/3)

**Author: **Shannon (Freelance) (Part 3)

**Rating: **Gen, Teen

**Notes: **These are three stories/chapters on a theme, written round-robin style by **Starrylizard**, **Rinne** and **Freelance**. They can be read separately or together and we'll be posting them over the next couple of days.

**Warnings:** Spoilers for 2.02 (a character). Dark chapter.

* * *

Three hours after, Sam burns the body. 

He uses three cans of salt, another two of gas, and a full box of matches. The fire is bright, fierce, and the smoke and heat rise up and out, hovering around the field. But Sam is only cold.

When the fire is dead (like everything else), he grabs the empty cans and tosses them into the trunk of Impala. He slams the lid down then pauses for a moment, staring at the trunk. Slowly, he runs a hand across the smooth metal – she's cold too.

He shakes his head and strides around to open the door, sliding in and shoving the car into gear. She groans and Sam closes his eyes and sighs. "Sorry," he whispers.

He turns her on and she chokes to life, the engine shuddering violently. Sam slowly lets the clutch out, pressing hard on the gas pedal, and they speed away.

He can't help looking back.

* * *

He's sitting at the motel room table, staring intently at the computer screen, when he hears the door bang and a booming "Sammy!" 

"In here," he calls back. He stands up, eyes still on the screen. "I think I found what we need," he starts, before turning around. His mouth drops open. "What happened to _you_?"

Dean's leaning against the wall, his clothes ripped and stained, dried blood streaked down his cheek. He shrugs. "Fell off a building."

Sam's forehead creases and he just gazes at Dean, mouth still gaping. "No, seriously, Dean. What happened?"

Dean smirks at him, and shrugs again. "Well, if you won't believe me…" He strolls over to the table, grabbing a box of Kleenex on the way, and squints at the computer. "What'd you find?"

Sam's still staring at him. Dean glances back at him, and flaps a hand. "I'm _fine_, Sam," he says. He wipes at his face with the Kleenex before looking back at the computer. "Now, c'mon - what did you find?"

With one last worried look at Dean, Sam sits back on the chair and taps a couple of keys. "Well, it seems like we're looking for an empusa–"

And that's when Dean knocks him out.

* * *

Jo finds them. Sam doesn't know how she did it so quickly – it's only been two days (feels like forever) – or how she even _knew_. But she did and she's there, and in his half-unconscious state, he isn't sure he cares about _hows_. 

She throws molotovs and holy water bombs into the basement, bombarding them over and over. It's kinda pretty in a strange way, and it's warm and Sam needs the warmth, but mostly what it does is piss the demon (not _the_ demon, a demon, but one of _the_ demon's kids) off.

But he's distracted for long enough, and Jo gets to Sam and frees him. He almost collapses to the ground, but she manages – _just_ – to keep him up and moving. "Come on, Sam," she mutters, glancing around them for Dean, "we've got to be quick. I've got things set up, but we have to get there first." And she knows, like he knows, that Dean's going to follow them; that he's not going to give up on Sam.

She pushes him into the seat of the car, tosses a couple of Tylenol at him. "Nothing stronger – not till after," she says, but he's happy enough knowing there's codeine in it.

She takes him somewhere – he's _really_ not sure on the details – but it's a trap, it's a set-up, and Sam's sure that Dean – the demon – will know that.

"Yeah, he will," Jo replies. "He's gonna come anyway."

And he does.

They trap him in a Key of Solomon, because apparently the demon kids are really that stupid and never learn from each other. Sam's hoping that keeps holding true and that this one doesn't know what Meg did. They move fast anyway, because there's no way they're taking chances.

Jo pulls out a piece of a paper with the ritual written on it and opens her mouth to speak. Sam pulls it from her hands before she gets a word out.

"Sam…"

"My brother," he says, looking her straight in the eyes, "my job."

She sighs, but nods and steps back. Not too far though: she's only a couple of feet behind him and he's guessing it's in case he falls.

Sam looks down at the paper, closes his eyes and tries to block out the demon's (Dean's) voice. He's still taunting them, _been_ taunting them this whole fucking time.

Sam looks up and stares at the demon, focusing on the way it moves and stalks and rants. It's not his brother. He takes a deep breath and begins to speak.

But then the demon smirks and it's Dean's smirk and Sam freezes. His hands clench the paper and he repeats to himself that it's not Dean, _it's not Dean_, that Dean's inside and screaming and wanting the damn thing _out_.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean says. "I fell off a building."

Sam reads the ritual.

* * *

Three hours after, he burns the body. 


End file.
